a little tea with your sugar
by Toraptor
Summary: Song Lan rushed after Xiao XingChen after the eye-transplant, before his injuries were fully healed. All things considered, it could have ended far worse. [Song Lan x Xiao XingChen]


**notes: my dudes, yi city arc had me all sorts of hurting. So naturally, I must turn to fanfic to fix it.**

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"No, no," said Xiao XingChen, though the pitch of his voice, a good couple octaves higher than normal, betrayed him. "It's _fine_. It's fine."

"Xiao XingChen—"

"I can do this."

"_XingChen_—"

"I am not afraid of a body," said Xiao XingChen. "Especially not one that's alive."

Halting, stumbling fingers darted to Song Lan's shoulders, hooked around the edge of his robes. It was a soft and gentle touch, so much so that Song Lan was loath to say what needed to be said.

"You have to undo the…"

"OH!" Xiao XingChen went cherry red, covered his face, thought better of it, and scrambled for Song Lan's belt. Then he stopped, propriety having a throw-down with necessity in the back of his head. It wasn't _right_ to just scramble for his belt. He couldn't just—but he had to. He could do it.

It would have been easier if he could see what he was doing. Xiao XingChen would not regret, for even a single second, giving up his eyes to Song Lan, but it _would be so much easier_ if he only knew—_exactly_—where he was sticking his hands, at any given moment. He didn't want to accidentally cop a feel. Well, actually—but no, _no_ he definitely did not.

"If my hands weren't like this…" Song Lan trailed off, a silent apology in his tone.

Thick wads of bandages were wrapped around Song Lan's hands, turning them into something like clubs. He sat on a bed, in an inn, and Xiao XingChen hadn't—couldn't—see the looks of other people as they walked in, but he could _imagine_. It was mortifying. It was thrilling. He thanked every deity to ever exist that Song Lan could not read his mind, and hoped what he was thinking wasn't written on his face. Only, Song Lan was good at reading facial expressions.

Before Xiao XingChen could think better of it, he unlaced the belt and pulled back the robes, bunching the sleeves around Song Lan's hands to avoid jostling them. Next to follow was his undergarments, allowing air to the wounds underneath. They were wide, gruesome things, claw marks stretching over his body. It would leave scars.

Song Lan had been remarkably calm about the entire thing. Indeed, while Xiao XingChen frantically felt around for a medicine kit, ripping up bandages, Song Lan had cradled his hands and crooned for him to be _calm. Everything will be fine_, he'd said, as though he wasn't the one bleeding out.

Unwrapping the bandages, feeling around for the herbal tinctures, fell into muscle memory. He went through the flow of the motions, feeling where he needed and always careful not to press too hard. Song Lan was quiet, as he always was, but Xiao XingChen could feel his gaze boring into the side of his head. It was a bit like being coated in the summer sun, in the dead of winter. He could have basked in it forever.

Once he finished, he sat back, still flushed. He had the distinct feeling he'd made it into more of a production than was needed.

"There's tea," he said, feeling around for the cup with the flower-painted rims. The tea was bitter and sugarless, the way Song Lan always prepared it. He was unlike Xiao XingChen in that regard, who was fond of sweet things to an extreme. Song Lan always joked there was more sugar in his tea than anything else.

Song Lan gave a noncommittal hum.

"It's already made," Xiao XingChen urged him, because he'd gone through the trouble of fumbling around for tea, and Song Lan was going to like it. Besides, it was good for him.

"You don't have to bother," said Song Lan. "I can't really hold it."

He held up his bandaged hands again.

"I can help you," said Xiao XingChen, hoping that he'd mastered his facial expressions as much as he suspected. Cool as a winter day, as the moonlight, the things everyone compared him to. _If they only knew_.

He lifted the cup, realized he wasn't sure where Song Lan's mouth was—he had always avoided looking at Song Lan's mouth, in the past; avoided it with the fervor of a man avoiding the plague—and that he would have to feel around to find it. His hand hovered in the air, but when Song Lan made no noise of dissent, he moved again. He cupped Song Lan's face with one hand, as though a telepathic connection between his two hands would home him in on Song Lan's mouth.

Naturally, he missed. Song Lan finally moved, with a huff that was a lot like a genuine laugh. "I've got it."

"I'm sorry," said Xiao XingChen.

Song Lan, in a moment of uncharacteristic tactility, buried his face in the crook of Xiao XingChen's neck. He sucked in a deep, trembling breath, arms stretching around Xiao XingChen's back. It was a firm and quick hug, from one unused to giving and receiving such gestures. Xiao XingChen didn't hesitate to abandon the cup and burrow himself in it, starved for contact and touch and all things he'd left behind on BaoShen SanRen's mountain for the last time.

"Are you alright?" he said.

Song Lan gave a vague mumble against his shoulder.

"ZiChen, I can't hear you," he laughed, turning his head to catch whatever Song Lan had said, only to meet him halfway, cheek against cheek. His lips brushed against an old cut on Song Lan's jaw.

In the time it took for Xiao XingChen's overloaded brain to process the moment, Song Lan had started talking again, only this time he wasn't muffled by robes.

"Don't apologize," he said. "Don't ever apologize."

Half of him was still caught in the sensation of skin against his lips. The other half was trying to piece together sentences that would help Song Lan understand _why_ Xiao XingChen blamed himself. If only he hadn't pushed so hard. If only he wasn't so nosy. If only he could frame his words in a way people understood, back when he first saw that scrappy boy in the Lanling Sect. Perhaps, Song Lan wouldn't have been targeted, and none of it ever would have happened. _If only, if only_.

But, it was over and done. It wouldn't be changed, and he didn't regret giving up what he had. Better to never see again, than to give up Song Lan's presence at his side. There was no need for sight in comparison to that kind of soul.

A cool wind blew through the open window. Xiao XingChen melted in the warmth of Song Lan's body heat, in the hushed whispers of curtains brushing against the windowsill.

"Then you promise me something," said Xiao XingChen, turning around so he could fit himself into a more comfortable position. He had latched on and may or may not have already intended to never let go. "No more apologies from you, either. You don't have to apologize for anything."

Song Lan made a sound of protest.

Xiao XingChen gave him a little shake. "If I have to promise, so do you."

He peeled his face from Xiao XingChen's shoulder. "Since when could you bargain?"

"I'm _learning_," said Xiao XingChen.

"Very well, then," said Song Lan, the curve of a rare smile pressed to Xiao XingChen's neck. "I promise."

* * *

(On some nights, there was peace. On other nights:

"ZiChen, if I accidentally spilled something on you—"

"Well, there are exceptions to every rule."

"Of course, naturally."

"You did not just spill water on me, on purpose."

"I'm very sorry.")

* * *

**notes: And then they adopted A-Qing, formed their own Sect, and adopted all the orphaned children.**

**Xue Yang either died in that ditch, or found a therapist.**


End file.
